


The Gift

by Ameiko



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 22:24:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ameiko/pseuds/Ameiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peeta Mellark spent his adolescent years in a mental institution after losing most of his family in a tragic accident. Now age twenty three and working as the janitor/caretaker at the Snow Academy for Girls, he is drawn out of solitude by the newly hired music teacher.  AU set in Maine, 1942.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silvercistern](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercistern/gifts).



> Many thanks to Chelzie for her beta work!

I noticed her the very first day she came to the school. It didn't take a genius to come to the conclusion that she was here to apply for old Mrs. Alderidge's position as the music teacher. She was too old to be a student, but young enough to be lured in by the sad amount offered for the post. At first glance, I noticed that she was beautiful, with her dark hair pulled back into an intricate braid and her sun-kissed skin. Still, I doubt that I would have paid much attention to her, but as I passed her on the way down the hall, I dropped my dust pan. Rather than stare at me indignantly for breaking the silence, she reached down, picked it up and handed it to me. It may seem like a small act, but it was far more consideration than most teachers at the school gave me. That one tiny kindness endeared her to me in a way that I hadn't felt towards anyone in quite a while.

Months passed without any interaction between the two of us. My post at the Snow Academy for Girls was petty solitary by nature. I lived on the far end of campus in what used to be the gamekeeper's cottage. I was far removed from the comings and goings of the teachers and students, working in the school most evenings and the dorms during the days when I was unlikely to see anyone. Miss Trinket preferred it that way. For a time, I believed that I did, too. It was easier to avoid people than it was to face the scrutiny that seemed to follow me everywhere in town and at school. Still, I found myself wondering about the new teacher, Miss Katniss Everdeen. I caught glimpses of her in her classroom. She worked later than most of her colleagues, but I always left her to her papers, heading to other parts of the school to clean. I didn't get to talk to her until a cold November morning when a small crisis sent her my way.

It was a Saturday, and the majority of the campus had taken the bus into town. I was working on the things that I normally couldn't get to while they were all about. I had just finished adding a fresh coat of paint to the shutters on the dorm house when I spotted her charging across the schoolyard, looking irate. I wiped my hands on my coveralls and headed for the bottom of the ladder. With a heavy sigh, I wondered if I had “forgotten” to empty a single paper from her waste can the way I had with Miss Glimmer's office. My ears were still ringing from the blonde's tirade about a coward like me being lucky to find a job. I was in no hurry to hear it all over again. She waited until I was firmly on the ground before speaking, and I wasn't sure if that was an omen or courtesy.

“I need your help,” she said reluctantly.

“All right,” I agreed. There was no real need to ask for details up front. If it was a dirty or demeaning job at this school, it was mine. I assumed that someone had clogged the toilet again.

She nodded and pulled her sweater tighter around her. “Follow me then, please.”

I did as she asked, but instead of heading back toward the school, we made our way to the old garden shed on the far side of the grounds. Katniss leaned an ear to the door. “Prim?” she called gently. “Are you still okay?”

Even from where I was standing, I could hear the soft sound of sniffling coming from inside. “I'm fine,” a little voice replied. “Just cold. They carried me out here in my nightgown.”

“It's Peeta, the janitor,” I said, leaning toward the door. “Sit tight and I'll have you out of there in no time.”

Just as the words were out of my mouth, I saw the chains they had wound through the door handles. In my mind, I called the girls that had done this every name under the sun, but managed to keep my cool on the surface. Katniss looked like she was angry enough for the both of us already.

“Well?” she prompted, staring me down with gray-eyed expectancy.

"I've got bolt cutters in my tool box. It won't be any problem to cut through those,” I assured her.

I hurried back to the tool shed and grabbed the cutters, as well as a heavy work coat that hung from a peg. It was worn and stained, but warm. Even though the morning was warmer than most in this climate, it was still too damn cold for a young girl to be out in her nightgown for God only knew how long. I again cursed the little witches that put the poor kid in that position, but tried to dismiss the thought as quickly as it came.

By the time I got back to the shed, Katniss was yanking on the chains as if that would do something. If sheer determination would have been enough, I don't doubt for a minute that she would have torn the place to the ground. She stared at me for a moment before backing away, letting me get to work. I had a hunch that the little girl inside was more than just another student. Even with the cutters, it took a minute to get through the chains. Katniss paced behind me like a lioness in her den, ready to strike at any moment.

“I'm almost done,” I called to the trapped girl. After a minute more, the chains fell away, and I threw open the door.

The girl standing before me was about thirteen or so with blonde hair in braided pigtails. She blinked her large blue eyes at the sudden bright light, and forced a smile even though her lips were almost blue and her cheeks were streaked with tears. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“Don't mention it,” I murmured as I wrapped the coat around her shoulders.

Katniss barreled in past me, pulling the girl into a fierce hug. I stood back awkwardly, watching the scene. She was growling things that I could barely hear, but I managed to make out, ‘You're freezing!’ and ‘Just wait until I get my hands on those girls!’

For the moment, I had been forgotten. The notion stung. I hadn't been expecting her to throw her arms around me and declare me a hero, but I hadn't imagined that she would dismiss me the second the door was opened. To be honest, I wasn't sure what I had thought Katniss would say to me...if anything. It took a minute to acknowledge that maybe I had been hoping that she didn't see me as the spineless coward or the crazed lunatic that everyone else did. Maybe I just wanted her to see me as the kind of person she might actually depend on. I didn't know why it mattered to me what she thought, but it did. Holding back a sigh, I turned and left.

I didn't speak to Katniss again for over a week. I saw her around the school frequently, but I avoided actually interacting with her much the same as I did the rest of the faculty. She was part of a world that I didn't feel connected to anymore. Why bother trying to fit in when everyone knew the truth about me? I was a 4F'er—unfit for service in the military—but that wasn't the half of it. The whole damn town knew that I had been locked up in a bug house for most of my teenage years after the terrible “accident” that claimed the lives of my father and two brothers. Most people would have moved on to another place, but the idea never really held much draw to me. Wherever I would go, I would still be me. There would still be the nightmares and the horrible moments when I lost myself to fear and memory. I couldn't escape that, and I didn't even try. Still, though, there was something about Katniss that made me want to go back to being a real person again...a foolish wish, really.

She caught me off guard in the art room that I was supposed to be cleaning one afternoon. I was examining the work of one of the older students. It was a re-creation of Monet's water lilies, and a clumsy one at that. My mind was focused on the sloppy brush strokes and how the colors didn't flow properly rather than the sound of footsteps behind me.

“I should have thanked you,” she said without preamble. I was startled by the sound of her voice, but managed to gather my bearings quickly enough that I don't think she noticed how I flinched.

“It's all right,” I told her, looking away. I trained my eyes on anything and everything around me to avoid her gaze. “You were worried about your sister.”

“I was, but that didn't make it all right. And I didn't return your coat.” She held out the aforementioned article of clothing.

The weather had turned colder and I had been missing it, but I had no intention of asking for it back. I'd planned on taking a bit of cash out of my savings to replace it. Avoiding her would have been worth the cost. I hated how she made me want things that I couldn't have.

“Thanks,” I murmured, accepting the coat. “How is she?”

Katniss frowned. “Prim ended up with a nasty cold. The nurse had her stay in the infirmary for a couple of days, but she's fine now.”

I had my coat back, and the little girl was okay. My instinct was to end the conversation there and go about my way. But I didn't.

“Who did that to her, anyway?” I asked.

“A few girls in her class don't seem to like her very much,” she replied, looking away. It didn't take a mind reader to tell that she hadn't had much success in seeing the culprits reprimanded and that it was bugging her. She was a protective older sister, a trait that I admired. I thought back to how Luke had once gotten into a fist fight because some older boys had made fun of me. I could see him in my mind's eye. He had been so vibrant and alive, but now he was gone. The thought made me want to shut my eyes and hide. I didn't like thinking about families—most of all mine.

Suddenly, Katniss was staring at me. “Are you all right?” she asked. It was only when she said something that I realized my knuckles were white around the folds of the coat.

“Just fine,” I assured her, loosening my grip. “I should get back to work.”

The meeting started a trend between us. We would see each other and grind out a few forced sentences before parting ways quickly. It seemed that maybe she was almost as reticent as I was. In a dozen meetings spread out over the next few weeks, I learned quite a bit about her—more from the silences between her words than what she actually told me. When she spoke about growing up in Pennsylvania, it was with an even frankness which told me that she wasn't ashamed that her family had been poor. It hadn't cowered her, and nor did the tragedy in her young adult life. I knew that her father (who she missed terribly) had died a few years earlier, and that her mother (who she loved and resented in equal measure) had passed away only a year before. She was nine years older than Prim, but felt more like a mother to the girl than she ever had a sister. I really came to respect Katniss during those conversations. She had more guts than I ever hoped to have, but she also had an innate sense of compassion that was hidden beneath her stoic exterior. At times, I even caught a glimpse of a girl who was as lonely as I was.

Dr. Aurelius, the man responsible for bringing me back to a near-functioning person, would have noted that this would have been a perfect opportunity to try and talk to someone about my past. He would have been right. My instincts told me that Katniss was probably one of the people least likely to judge me, but there was still a gnawing fear that wouldn't let me say the words. And really, what would I have said? _Well, I grew up the son of a baker with a mother who despised me for being the failure that I am. I had two older brothers that I adored. Oh yes, and I have no memory of the day we all went sailing and I was the only one to wash up on the shore alive. And let's not forget that I began having panic attacks so violent that my mother committed me to an institution when I was twelve._ No, I couldn't say any of that to Katniss. Instead, I kept my silence.

In the evenings after our meetings, I painted. The act of painting after a long day's work wasn't unusual for me. Creating art was more than just a hobby. Dr. Aurelius had taken over at the institution when I was fifteen. Before then, I had been subjected to such horrible “treatments” that if I hadn't been disturbed already, I certainly would have been by the time they “cured” me. The doctor's work was controversial at best. He was the bleeding heart type who believed in long therapy sessions and relaxing recreation rather than shock treatments and straitjackets. To a boy who had been locked away and tortured for three years, his kindness was a blessing, but I still couldn't find the words to sum up what went on in my mind. It was like there was this tangible air of panic that surrounded me all of the time, and whenever I tried to break free, I would find myself remembering things that I never wanted to. I just couldn't talk about any of it. Most doctors would have given up on me as a hopeless case—which many did—but Dr. Aurelius taught me to paint my feelings instead of speaking them. It was a coping mechanism that I held onto for dear life. However, when I painted after talking to Katniss, I didn't just paint feelings; I painted hopes and desires.

The paintings I did of Katniss were mostly tame images—ones of her sitting at her desk grading papers, or of her and Prim walking together across the schoolyard. I was fascinated by the lines and curves of her body, the deep gray of her eyes and the warm, olive tone of her skin. If I couldn't have the woman in real life, I could create her on the canvas. I even gave into the urge to paint myself beside her in a few of them. And then there were the ones I did after wrestling with my more primal cravings. Though I was a twenty-three year old virgin who had only seen a real life naked woman twice, my active imagination created an image of Katniss with bare, dusky nipples and softly curving hips. I think my greatest lament while painting those was that I couldn't hold my cock and the brush at the same time. Yet one thing was certain, no matter how I painted her, Katniss would never be mine in any fashion.

Winter settled in with an alarming swiftness that year. By the time Christmas was upon us, I had already had quite enough of shoveling snow to last me a lifetime. I even started fantasizing about hightailing it to south of the Mason-Dixon line, but I was already having a hard time picturing myself enjoying a life that didn't include Katniss. I would gladly suffer through snow if it meant getting to see her almost every day. And for the first time in a long time, I even considered what the holiday season would bring aside from a deserted campus.

Christmas had always been my favorite time of the school year. Students and teachers who resided in the dorms were sent home for nearly two full weeks, leaving only me to watch over the entire place. It was an idyllic time for me, usually, when I managed to take care of the niggling little problems that had crept up in the dorms and to paint uninterrupted. This year, I wasn't entirely sure that I preferred to be alone. Katniss being gone meant that I would probably go that entire time without saying a word to a single soul. I didn't ask what her plans were, because it upset me that the one and only person who talked to me like I was a human being would be out in the world with other people. I wasn't sure when I had become so possessive of her, but I had. Luckily, though, fate intervened.

I was mopping the floors in the French room two days before Christmas break began when I found out that Katniss wasn't going anywhere for the holiday. I was so excited about it that I nearly slid onto my ass when she told me.

She eyed me curiously from her spot on the edge of the desk. “What's the matter with you?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I lied. “I’m just a little surprised that you would want to stay here for Christmas.”

“Where else would I go? I don't have any family, and it isn't like I have the money to go stay at a hotel for the break,” she explained with a heavy sigh.

“I'll be here, too,” I said plainly.

“You never talk about your family,” she commented softly. “Do you have any family?” 

I shrugged. “My mother's alive—or at least, was the last I heard—but I haven't seen or heard from her since I was thirteen. I had two brothers who died along with my father when I was a kid.”

Though it wasn't much, it was the most I had willingly told anyone about my family in years, and I knew that I couldn't force myself to say more without risking an episode. I dropped to my knees and began scrubbing at a stubborn scuff mark with a rag, hoping that she wouldn't ask any more. She didn't.

“I never really liked Christmas,” she muttered.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I glanced back up at her. “Oh? Why not?”

“We never had any money. Prim has never had a store bought Christmas gift in her life. And this year, I have the money, but I don't think I could walk all the way to town and back in this kind of weather,” Katniss lamented, resting her head on her hands. “I've even thought about riding the bus out to town when the kids get dropped off at the station, but even just walking back would be miserable.”

“I could drive you.”

The words were out of my mouth before I had time to consider what I was saying. All I knew was that I wanted to make Katniss smile. I wanted to give both Katniss and Prim a merry Christmas, even if I had to face the scrutiny of the town to do it.

She looked a bit taken off guard by my offer. “That would be great, but I don't want to leave Prim here by herself all day.”

“So bring her,” I replied quickly. “I’m sure I can distract her while you buy her a gift. I'll even treat you both to a soda at the drug store.”

Three days later, I was in the old truck the school allowed me use for picking up supplies and such, with Katniss and Prim crammed in beside me. The ride to town wasn't as awkward as I had thought it would be. It turned out that once she wasn't freezing to death in a shed, Primrose Everdeen was quite a chatterbox. She went on and on about all of the wonderful things that the Christmas season brought with it. From snow to holly and from ornaments to bows, she didn't leave anything off of her list. Her cheer was contagious, and by the time we pulled down Main Street, Katniss and I were both smiling as well.

I parked the truck on the far side of town. It was better to walk the long way through than to park where it would draw attention. Some of the rowdier teenage boys once thought it was funny to smash eggs on my truck, and I didn't want to risk any real damage to the school's vehicle. If either of them wondered why I was acting so strangely, they didn’t ask about it, so I didn't offer any reasoning. In trade, we walked down the street slower than I usually liked to. It didn’t seem fair to deny them the fun of admiring the decorated storefronts and the garland wrapped lamp posts. I managed to will away the memories that plagued me as we went along. Shutting out images of my brothers running ahead of me as we rushed to the town square to see the tree that was set up there, I tried to focus on the present as Prim fawned over the displays. Despite the happiness around me, I still felt a bleakness setting in.

We arrived at the drug store just after the lunch rush had passed; the front counter was empty except for an old timer nursing a cup of coffee and chatting with the soda jerk. There were a few clerks and customers flitting about the place, and I tried to hide my discomfort. I had been hoping that by some miracle that the place would have completely deserted. I avoided anywhere in town where I was likely to run into crowds. Noticing a few stares and hearing a low whisper from around the store, I lowered my head and pressed on.

“Prim, would you mind helping me pick a pair of gloves for a friend of mine?” I asked, giving Katniss a sly look. With a nod of thanks, she disappeared amongst the rows of goods.

The teen smiled widely. “Is she a girlfriend?”

I shook my head. “Sadly, no.”

“Do I know her?” Prim asked with a giggle.

“Maybe,” I muttered. I shoved my hands in my pockets, and made my way to the counter where several pairs of fine, leather gloves were laid out.

Prim picked up a pale, pink pair and inspected them carefully. With a dreamy smile, she handed them to me. “I think these might make her change her mind,” she announced, as though she were an authority on the matter.

“I don't know.” I examined them less thoroughly than she had. Though I hadn't known her very long, I couldn't picture Katniss wearing them...or any of the other pairs, either. I moved along down aisle touching a few things here and there as I went. Toward a towering display of packaged soap, I heard something that stopped me in my tracks.

“Did you see him just come strolling in here, bold as brass?” one ancient, crackling voice cried.

“I'll say! And can you imagine what good old Wheaton Mellark would say if he could see his boy now? His mother's poor heart was broken when she had to have him locked up,” an equally aged woman replied.

The first woman let out a soft tutting noise. “I don't know why they ever let him out.”

“Peeta?”

I took a deep breath and turned back to face Prim. I was positive that she had heard. The look of pity in her eyes was too raw to be of my imagining. I pasted on my best fake smile. “I can only imagine what your classmates say about me,” I said with a careless shrug.

“Nothing worth repeating nor believing.” She gave me a smile as false as my own.

We continued on shopping, pretending that nothing had changed, even though much of the spirit was gone from us both. I had already decided to buy something for both of them when I saw Prim longingly eye a jar of rose-scented bath salts. She was rather predicable as far as young girls were concerned. It was her sister who was the confusing one. I had no idea what to get for her. Somehow, I doubted bath salts would do the trick. Just when I was on the verge of giving up hope, I spotted a small music box.

It wasn't very large or really all that grand looking, but there was something about it that caught my eye. Perched on the top was a little gilded mockingbird on a branch. I turned the key and listened as the bird let out a whistling tune that made me smile. It wasn't a very complex song, just a few simple notes, but I thought that she might like it. I was about to ask Prim what she thought, when I noticed the look on her face.

“Katniss would love that,” she said sadly. “I wish I had the money to buy it for her.”

“I'll buy it,” I offered, “And you can pay me back someday.”

I sent Prim to save us one of the two booths up front while I paid for the music box, a pair of green gloves, and the bath salts. The total came to more than I made in a whole week, but I had enough to cover it. Giving gifts to the first people I had cared about in years was well worth delving into my scant savings for. I reasoned that I would just have to be careful how much paint I used over the next couple of months. As the clerk wrapped up my things, my eyes landed on a military recruitment poster.

“I know it's rude to say it, but I'm glad that they wouldn't take you.”

I jumped a bit at the sound of Katniss' voice. “Why is that?” I asked, scooping up the bags quickly.

“I'd miss you,” she admitted.

Over the next several days, I buried myself in my little cabin. I found that the only thing more daunting to me than an untouchable version of Katniss was the one that was within my grasp. I didn't have the guts to take things any farther. Even if she really did want to be with me, why would I saddle her with a spineless coward like myself?

A knock came to my door on Christmas morning. With no one else besides us on campus, I knew it had to be one of the Everdeen sisters. I suspected that it was Prim, as she had mentioned something about wanting me to join them to open presents. I hadn't been able to bring myself to do it, though their gifts were sitting wrapped on my kitchen table. However, I opened the door to reveal Katniss.

“I loved the music box,” she blurted out.

I raked a hand through my still sleep mussed hair. “How did you know?”

“It was pretty easy to figure out. Prim doesn't have any money, and besides, it wasn't anything too frilly,” she explained with a grin.

“Do you want to come in?” I asked, stepping aside.

She slid by me, glancing around my shabby home without any real look of judgment. The place wasn't too terribly messy at the moment, but it wasn't anything to be proud of. In the corner sat my latest painting—thankfully it wasn't one of Katniss—and her eyes instantly landed on it.

“I didn't know you were an artist,” she murmured.

“I'm not,” I countered, lifelessly. The last thing I wanted to do was admit to her that painting was actually how I coped with my life. Instead, I changed the topic. “I have a couple of small things for you and Prim, if you wouldn't mind taking them back with you.”

Blushing prettily, she shook her head. “You've done too much already, but thank you.”

I shrugged. “It's nice to have people to buy presents for again.”

“There is something that I have been wanting to give you,” she whispered.

“Oh?” I asked, cocking my head to the side.

Before I could ask her anything else, she closed the space between us and laid her soft lips against mine. Though it was quick, the kiss was anything but chaste and left me wanting more. She pulled away and smiled at me; in that single moment, I knew I was a goner.

“Merry Christmas, Peeta.”


End file.
